


starlight and star-crossed

by thelittlebirdthattoldyou



Series: spiker-setter week 2020 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Argentina, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Multiple, POV Outsider, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Reverse Chronology, Weddings, tooru speaking spanish and being in love is literally all i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlebirdthattoldyou/pseuds/thelittlebirdthattoldyou
Summary: “We’re husbands,” Hajime murmurs. His eyes fall from Oikawa’s face to his hand, to the fourth finger and its new golden band.(Gold because Oikawa always shines like a supernova, has always taken the number one place in Hajime’s life, in his heart—)He covers Oikawa’s hand in his and laces their fingers together.“Yeah, Iwa-chan.” His voice is hushed, reverential; Hajime understands exactly how that feels.Scenes before, during, and after the wedding.Standalone sequel tolet's get married (i don't wanna walk alone)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: spiker-setter week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912567
Comments: 23
Kudos: 320
Collections: Haikyuu: Spiker-Setter Week





	starlight and star-crossed

**Author's Note:**

> spiker-setter week day 7: **free day**
> 
> my fics for the past few days have been a tiny bit angstier than usual so pls accept this as my atonement. i present to u: the sappiest thing i’ve ever written ((which is saying A LOT)).
> 
> title: “let’s get married” by the bleachers.
> 
> tysm to [ava](/users/aloeverava/) for beta'ing <3

_After._

Maybe the sun is brighter in Argentina. Or maybe Hajime is just warmer because there’s another body in the sheets beside him. The body of the man he’s loved with enough love to bridge the Pacific Ocean.

Hajime stirs into wakefulness slowly, like a new seedling pushing out of the dirt. He shuffles closer to Oikawa on the bed until he feels bare skin against his cheek, and then, without opening his eyes, he pushes himself up on one elbow and noses at Oikawa's abdomen, the side of his arm, all the way up to his shoulder. He presses his lips against the soft skin there, less a kiss than a reassurance of presence.

He stops dead in his tracks when he feels the shallow tremors of Oikawa's body. He's—is Oikawa crying?

Hajime shoots up into a sitting position, and his eyes fly open. Oikawa has his head in his hands. He’s hunched forward, shaking, and strange, hiccuping sobs escape him in gasps.

The last vestiges of sleep leave Hajime immediately. He scoots behind Oikawa, settles his legs on either side of Oikawa’s body and wraps his arms around his waist. “Tooru, baby?” he asks with a soft kiss to Oikawa’s hair, the curls lighter now than they used to be thanks to so much time spent under the Argentina sun. “What’s wrong?”

Between shudders, Oikawa manages to get out, “Stupid Iwa-chan—always picks the worst—the _worst_ times to wake up.”

Hajime’s heart flops painfully in his chest. If Oikawa regrets this, regrets the rings and the vows and the _forever_ _—_

“Don’t make fun of me,” Oikawa says.

“You’re crying,” Hajime points out. “What’s funny about this?”

“Because I’m _happy,”_ Oikawa says. He leans back into Hajime’s embrace in spite of himself, wiping at his eyes. “Because Iwa-chan’s my—my _husband.”_

_Ah._

His worst fears allayed, Hajime feels a relieved laugh bubble up in his throat and slip out from between his lips. Immediately, Oikawa tries to pull away, indignant, but Hajime keeps him wrapped tight against his chest.

“I told you not to laugh!”

“And I never actually agreed.”

Oikawa slumps against him. “You’re such a shitty husband,” he mutters.

_Husband._ A contrary word in and of itself. On the one hand, marriage is nothing more than a scrap of paper that cements what they’ve always known about their relationship. But on the other, how lovely is it to have that sense of assurance? How lovely is it to stand tall and proud and keep an arm around Tooru’s waist and introduce himself and say _This is my husband, nice to meet you?_

When Hajime is silent for too long, Oikawa tilts his head so that they can look each other in the eye. Oikawa’s are red-rimmed and puffy, tear tracks glittering thanks to the rays of sunlight that catch on them. They’re beautiful. “Hajime?”

“We’re husbands,” Hajime murmurs. His eyes fall from Oikawa’s face to his hand, to the fourth finger and its new golden band. _(Gold because Oikawa always shines like a supernova, has always taken the number one place in Hajime’s life, in his heart_ _—_ _)_ He covers Oikawa’s hand in his and laces their fingers together.

“Yeah, Iwa-chan.” His voice is hushed, reverential; Hajime understands exactly how that feels.

The seconds meander on, and outside, the sun rises higher in its incremental ascent of the sky. Hajime would be content to stay like this all day. He rubs absent circles over the grooves of Oikawa’s palm, the calluses on his fingers.

It’s a perfect, crystalline moment, suffused in bright love and hope.

So, of course, Oikawa has to open his mouth and ruin it.

“I can’t believe you thought I was upset waking up next to you after our wedding night,” he says. “Idiot.”

Hajime snorts and flicks him in the forehead. “Shut up. You’re the idiot for making me worry. Who the fuck starts _crying_ after they get married?”

“I wouldn’t expect a brute like Iwa-chan to understand nuanced emotion—”

“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I won’t hit you.”

Oikawa yelps. “Help! This is abuse. This is—ah!”

He collapses in a fit of giggles when Hajime’s fingers dig into his sides. Hajime tickles him until he’s curled up on his side laughing, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach.

“M—mercy!” Oikawa chokes out. “Iwa—ah!”

“Still think I’m a bad husband?” Hajime asks. It doesn’t come out as menacing as he intends for it to, but he can’t help the way his lips are stretched into a wide smile, making everything he says come out tinged in affection.

“The worst,” Oikawa wheezes, and Hajime pauses, fingers poised to resume the attack. “Wait—wait! I take it back. No more, Iwa-chan!”

“Alright, alright.” He’s feeling merciful, so he lets Oikawa catch his breath and roll onto his back. Hajime crosses his legs under his body and stares down at him. He still craves the feeling of Oikawa’s skin under his hands—doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop wanting it—so he reaches out and cups Oikawa’s cheek.

He swipes his thumb over Oikawa’s cheekbone. Oikawa’s eyelashes flutter, and the ghost of a sigh leaves his lips. “Hajime,” he says. _“Mi cariño._ I’d never regret you—you know that, right?”

Hajime smiles. “I know.”

“You remember when my cousin Fumiko got engaged? The day after the party, I told my mom I was gonna marry you.”

He scoffs. “You did not.”

“I did!”

“We were, like, five.”

“Yeah, exactly. I’ve been waiting for this for fifteen years.”

“Oh, really. Does it meet your expectations, Shittykawa?”

“Mm.” Oikawa lifts his hands and clasps them around Hajime’s neck. “It exceeds them. Hajime, I—you— _tú eres mi corazón. Mi cielo. Mi mundo._ I love you."

That makes Hajime pause. “The vows were yesterday, you know.” His voice is a little hoarse, though, because he may not be fluent, but he’s picked up enough Spanish to get a general idea of what Oikawa means.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. C’mere.”

He pulls Hajime down to meet him, and Hajime goes willingly. They can afford to forget about the world for a day.

* * *

_During._

They say something always goes wrong right before a wedding, so Tooru is waiting for it to happen. First he half expects it to rain, but the day dawns cloudless and perfect. There’s not even a strong wind to stir up the sand and send it flying over the venue; the beach is perfectly still and lovely, sparkling like cut diamonds in the dawning light. Then he wonders if maybe the cake won’t arrive on time, but it does. In fact, all the food for the reception comes right on time, and it smells delicious. The flowers, the tuxes, the rings—nothing’s out of place.

It’s awful. Tooru fidgets with the boutonniere fastened to the lapel of his suit—he hadn’t so much as pricked his finger putting it on. The preparations are running too smoothly, and that makes him suspicious.

“You’re so lame,” Matsukawa says. He’s Tooru’s best man, and they’re waiting in a sectioned-off area of the venue until someone gives them the cue to begin. “Why are you upset when everything’s perfectly fine?”

“I’m upset _because_ everything’s fine,” Tooru complains. “It means that the bad luck is going to come later. Like, I’ll trip down the aisle or forget my vows or Iwa-chan will run away with the priest or something.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Tooru crosses his arms and glares. “Why not? Anything’s possible.”

“Let’s see.” Matsukawa sighs and holds up three fingers, counting them off as he goes. “You’ve rehearsed so many times that you can tell Iwaizumi how much you love him in your sleep—which I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you do, by the way. Unless you’re blind and deaf, you’d know that he won’t even _look_ at anyone but you. And if you can play full games in international volleyball without messing up, I’m pretty sure you can manage walking a few feet.”

He’s probably right, but Tooru is nervous anyway. He taps his foot and steals glances at the clock above the dresser, wondering when it’ll be time. At this point, he wants Yahaba to rush in to tell him that the string quartet has quit, just so he has a distraction.

“Stop thinking,” Matsukawa says. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re not allowed to be mean to me on my wedding day!"

“I am if it’s the only way to get you to stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out. I’m fine.”

At that moment, they hear a knock on the door. Oikawa freezes, turning to Matsukawa with wide eyes. “Mattsun—that was—they’re—”

“Right. ‘Not freaking out.’” He stands and dusts his suit off, jerking his head in the direction of the door—and, behind it, the start of Tooru’s life with Iwaizumi. “Come on. If you chicken out now, ‘Hiro and I will make fun of you for it forever.”

“Fine.” Tooru is flustered enough that he doesn’t bother to object to the last part of that statement, just gets to his feet and lets himself be led outside.

His parents are waiting there, having flown in from Japan for the ceremony. They’re going to walk him down the aisle together. Matsukawa pats him on the shoulder in reassurance and leaves to stand by Yahaba, Kindaichi, and Takeru—Tooru’s other groomsmen.

“You look so handsome, dear,” his mom says.

Tooru leans down to kiss her on the cheek. “Thanks, mom.”

His dad clears his throat. “I’m happy for you, son.”

Tooru nods at him in acknowledgement. It took him some time to come to terms with the idea of his son dating another man, but Tooru is nonetheless glad he’s here now.

The venue he and Iwaizumi had chosen is a sort of breezy, open-air patio space on a private beach, with two small rooms on either side of the entrance to serve as dressing rooms for the grooms. The whole thing is built of light aspen wood, decorated with white curtains and lilies and, underneath Tooru’s feet, a plush, dark blue carpet that leads to the altar.

Tooru’s groomsmen walk down it first. Once they’ve had enough time to take their places beside the wedding arch, Tooru follows, supported by his parents on either side.

As soon as he enters the main enclosure, his attention goes to Iwaizumi.

Vaguely, he registers the guests watching him walk by—his sister is there with her family, and so are Iwaizumi’s parents. His San Juan teammates occupy seats somewhere near the front, dressed in tuxes with their wives and kids next to them, and yet, Tooru can’t tear his eyes away long enough to acknowledge them.

Iwaizumi is—he’s _everything._ He stands in front of one of the gauzy curtains, silhouette dark against the diffused sunlight. His suit, a sleek dove gray to match Tooru’s dark blue, is tailored perfectly to fit him. He fiddles with his silver cufflinks, an unconscious nervous quirk that Tooru is hopelessly endeared by.

Tooru wants to fall to his knees here and now and thank every god there is that he gets to have this, but even more unthinkable is the awed look that comes over Iwaizumi’s face, like he thinks _Tooru_ is the precious one. Like he thinks _Tooru_ is the one who should be worshipped.

He’s wrong. Tooru is acutely aware of how little he deserves the man standing in front of him, the man who he’s never had to live without, but he’s going to be selfish and take it anyway.

Having reached the altar, his mom squeezes his elbow and shoots him a quick smile, and then his parents step away to take their own seats.

And Tooru is left alone with Iwaizumi. All the morning’s infinite anxieties have long fallen away; none of that matters when it comes down to the two of them.

Iwaizumi holds out his hands, and Tooru reaches to take them without even thinking about it. It’s how they’ve always been, gravitating towrd each other in a way so natural it can only be described as instinct.

“You weren’t thinking of skipping out on me, were you, Trashykawa?”

“Never,” Tooru breathes, and it’s the truth. He may have pictured a lot of things going wrong on their wedding day, but he had never once considered changing his mind.

Iwaizumi beams at him, and Tooru goes a bit weak. He doesn’t know how they’ll get through the next few minutes when he’s already so smitten that rational thought has flown out the window. Matsukawa was wrong—forgetting his vows is definitely a valid concern.

But it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters except the love in Iwaizumi’s every touch, his every word. And Watari, stepping in front of them to hold out two golden rings on a plush velvet pillow.

Tooru thinks he could do anything, go anywhere, as long as he keeps Iwaizumi’s hand in his. All of a sudden, he feels invincible.

* * *

_Before._

“Are you scared?” Issei asks.

Oikawa scoffs. “Of course not.”

They’re sitting side-by-side on the beach, passing a bottle of sweet red wine between them. Oikawa held his official bachelor party a week ago, a wild gathering of his many friends from Japan and Argentina in one place. He’d wanted something quieter for the night before the ceremony, and as his best man, Issei was required to indulge him.

Well, he doesn’t mind it much. The crash of waves on the surf is relaxing, and the sand, though it sticks everywhere, is pleasant enough to lounge on. The constellations are different here, too, in the southern hemisphere and halfway across the world from Japan, and Issei takes the time to study them.

He takes another sip. “You say that now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means don’t go too crazy tomorrow morning. I’m pretty sure Iwaizumi likes Godzilla, not bridezilla.”

Scowling, Oikawa snatches the bottle out of his hands. Issei lets him take it. “I knew I should’ve picked Makki,” he says.

“Ouch.”

Oikawa raises the bottle to his lips and downs a gulp, and then he pulls away and wipes his mouth. “You know, when high school started—maybe even when our third year started—I had no idea I’d end up here.”

Issei shrugs. He’s never been one for philosophy. “These things happen.”

“Yeah. I’m happy, though.”

“Iwaizumi’s a good guy,” Issei says. “Too good for you.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a catch.”

“Uh huh.”

“But Iwa-chan is pretty great, isn’t he?” Oikawa sighs. It sounds more like he’s a teenager with a crush than a grown man and professional athlete.

Issei groans. “Please don’t get mushy on me.”

Oikawa, naturally, doesn’t listen.

“I’m getting married,” he says. “I love him so much.”

“Are you drunk?” Issei asks, because it’s worth establishing. He’s had less than half a bottle of wine, so he should be tipsy at most, but Issei rarely sees him this sentimental. It usually happens when he’s drunk.

“Of course not. Have a little faith in me, Mattsun. Can’t I just proclaim my undying love for my fiancé—soon to be husband—because I feel like it?"

"I wish you wouldn't," Issei deadpans.

Then Oikawa gets this gleam in his eye, the one that usually spells trouble for the people around him. The people who liked to point fingers at Issei and Hanamaki in high school, accusing _them_ of being troublemakers, had no idea how much of a menace Oikawa was.

Oikawa scrambles to his feet, almost slipping thanks to the sand, and runs out to the waterline, leaving footprints behind him to be washed away by the tide tomorrow morning.

Issei curses and gets to his feet as well. It's his job to keep track of Oikawa until he can be given away tomorrow, and he's not about to stand by and watch the idiot dive into the ocean in the middle of the night and risk getting sick. Iwaizumi would never forgive him, and Iwaizumi is scary when he’s mad.

“Get back here!” Issei shouts. “What the fuck, Oikawa?”

But Oikawa shows no signs of slowing down. He stops briefly to dip a toe into the water, and then he plunges into it until he’s drenched up to his waist.

He looks over his shoulder at Issei, who’s slowed to a stop several feet behind him, and grins. Issei can see the white flash of his teeth in the darkness.

Issei tries again. “What are you -”

Oikawa cups his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “I’m getting married to Iwaizumi Hajime!” he shouts out to sea, out to the stars.

_“I’m getting married to the love of my life!”_ he shouts in English, for good measure, and then once more in a language Issei assumes must be Spanish.

He spreads his arms out wide and lets himself free-fall backward. He ends up floating in the water, cradled by the tides, delighted laughter ringing loud into the night.

Issei leans down, grabs a fistful of sand, and flings it as his face.

Oikawa squawks and lifts his hands in time to deflect most of it, but some lands in his mouth despite his best efforts. He splutters and flails, somehow managing to right himself into a standing position without drowning.

“Rude, Mattsun!” he complains, as soon as he’s able.

Issei smirks. He brought it on himself.

Oikawa half swims, half sludges back to shore. His hair is plastered to his face, t-shirt and gym shorts clinging to his body. None of it serves to dim the satisfied grin on his face.

“Where do you think Iwa-chan is?” Oikawa asks once he’s back on solid ground, squeezing the saltwater from his hair.

Issei brushes off the question with a noncommittal shrug. Hanamaki had mentioned something to him about tango lessons, claiming that Iwaizumi needed to practice for his and Oikawa’s first dance as newlyweds. Issei would have liked to see the look on Iwaizumi’s face as he was forced to follow along with the instructor’s quick steps and swaying hips, but instead he’s here. On a beach at night with one soaking wet Oikawa Tooru.

“You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep tonight. I wonder if he’s as excited as I am.”

Issei is fairly certain he is, but he’s not going to say it. Oikawa doesn’t need to be enabled.

They’re silent for a couple of moments, long enough that Issei can hear the faint sounds of Buenos Aires traffic coming from behind them: honking cars and the screech of tires on the road. Some unintelligible shouting, all of it from people with their own lives and concerns, none of them aware of the two men out by the water.

“Thanks for coming,” Oikawa says at last.

“Sure,” Issei replies, easy.

“I know, I know,” Oikawa says, before Issei can bring it up. “We need to go back soon. But—five more minutes.”

So Issei and Oikawa settle back down on the sand—Issei winces, knowing it’s going to clump to Oikawa’s wet clothes and be a bitch to clean when it dries. But Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind, so whatever. At least he can afford to replace them.

“Iwa-chan used to take me stargazing,” Oikawa says. “In high school. They’re different here, obviously, but still. We haven’t been in a while. I miss it.”

“Save it for your honeymoon.”

“We will.” Oikawa looks down at his clasped hands and smiles. “Wanna know a secret, Mattsun?” he asks.

“Hm.”

“Iwa-chan once told me he didn’t think I’d ever be content. I’d just keep chasing my dreams until I was an old man. But—I think I am content, right now. And it’s because of him. Isn’t that funny?”

Issei makes a quiet noise of affirmation. They’re veering dangerously into lovey-dovey territory again, but he supposes he can forgive it this time.

Maybe that’s just how the world looks when you’re in love.

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve written proposals before and i also have a wedding planning fic but i haven’t done an actual wedding so i thought why not?
> 
> and thus spiker-setter week 2020 is over and i'm a little in shock?? it feels like i've been hoarding these fics for so long (i think i started writing these in june AHH) and now i have no idea what to do with myself heh.
> 
> idk why i'm talking like i'm gonna stop writing for haikyuu bc i'm definitely not but,, yeah. thank you all so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc etc!!
> 
> [my tumblr](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com/)


End file.
